


Suburbia

by winter_angst



Series: Dribble Drabbles [9]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Cheating, Depression, First Meetings, Infidelity, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD Referenced
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-06
Updated: 2020-10-06
Packaged: 2021-03-08 09:00:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26849308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winter_angst/pseuds/winter_angst
Summary: Things aren't always as perfect as it seems in the Suburbs.
Relationships: Brock Rumlow/Grant Ward, Jack Rollins/Brock Rumlow
Series: Dribble Drabbles [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1527689
Comments: 5
Kudos: 13





	Suburbia

Brock’s back rested against the wall, knees drawn to his chest as he stared outside. The rain slickened windows blurred his view, should one call the line of uniform houses a view. It was empty out there, everyone retreated from the drab drizzle that had hung around since the early hours of the day. A six thirty cars began to pull out, wipers on, driving away to their monotonous days. Grant was one of them, off to the office, the accounts payable clerk for the lumber company just outside of town. Brock watched two droplets race enough down the window, pooling on the sill. The humid air, just a bit chilly wafted in from the cracked window. It wasn’t like it made much difference, Brock thought as he brought the filter to his lips and drew in a deep drag. The smoke burned his lungs, lungs that hadn’t seen smoke for years but in the past eight months it had been a habit once more. 

He shouldn’t have been smoking, not with TJ just a few feet away, clashing dinosaurs together in a child’s rendition of Jurassic Park, his new favorite movie. Brock thought it was too violent but Grant disagreed. So Brock appointed him in charge of any nightmares. But there hadn’t been any. Brock had been wrong. So why couldn’t he be wrong about this too? He blew the smoke towards the cracked window. He never wanted a life like this, one where his job was to tend to a household, like some Stepford Wife bullshit but… He could never tell Grant no, not with eyes the color of melted milk chocolate, not with that smile that made Brock feel like he was the only person in the entire world. Not with a face so perfect, so handsome, so… Brock took another drag off his cigarette. 

TJ had agreed that Daddy smoking was a secret and Brock, like the awful father he was, rewarded him with a chocolate bar once a week and a dollar for his rabbit piggy bank. Brock flicked ash into the empty White Claw can in his hand and checked the time. It wasn’t piano time, not yet. So Brock finished his cigarette and lit up again. Some days were like this, sitting and thinking and chain smoking. Other days he could pretend to be happy, convince himself that his suspicions were baseless and meant nothing. But on those Saturdays Grant had to go to the office they came back, snaking into mind, making him think the absolute worst. On days like today he knew he was foolish to ignore what was so obvious, what had been obvious for over a year now. Brock wasn’t sure why he let it get this far. Why he hadn’t just up and left the first time he smelled the cologne on his collar. 

Cologne that wasn’t his. Cologne that belonged to whoever he was having an affair with. 

But this was the suburbs, this was a place where imperfect things were hidden beneath order, a place that didn’t tolerate deviation from that imagine. Brock wasn’t the only one of course. 

It was why no one addressed the fact that the envelopes pushed into the Rogers-Barnes mailbox had red stamps of LAST NOTICE, or the time the electric company came two months ago and shut it off. It was why no one questioned why Barton’s stunning wife could hardly say a word of English, clearly an immigrant from Russia -- a mail order bride, Brock suspected. It was the reason that nobody called the cops when they heard a single gunshot from the Wilson residence, both veterans with PTSD -- the very next day they were all smiles, Sam mowing the lawn to HOA standards while Riley tended the hedges. The Maximoffs looked too similar to be strangers, clearly brother and sister though no one ever said it out loud. The only couple who were outwardly perfect was Pepper and Tony, though Brock was fairly certain he’d heard arguing, loudly, more than once. 

But that meant that others probably knew and Brock was the idiot who stayed. No one else had an unfaithful spouse. That was him and him alone. He took a deep drag and eyed the time. He scuffed out the lit end and dragged himself out of his self pitying to be the father he was supposed to be. 

“Piano time, Teej.” 

TJ was a good kid, he never kicked up a fuss and followed directions. Brock saw children in the stores who pitched fits, ran away from their parents or grabbed items they wanted. TJ wasn’t like that. He put his toys back in the bin and slipped them into the cube it belonged in before running to the door putting his frog boots. Brock hadn’t expected him to take to it so happily. It had been Grant who insisted on the lessons and Brock had agreed that piano would be a wonderful skill for TJ to acquire young. Brock slipped on his shoes and grabbed the umbrella. TJ hopped into a small pool in a small divot in the asphalt. 

Even their cars were uniform, compact SUVs in various shades of black. He got TJ buckled in and then slid behind the wheel. 

The piano teacher, Jack Rollins, was highly acclaimed among the other members of the PTA. He was a tall man, maybe ten years older than Brock. Jack could have easily been intimidating if it wasn’t for his smile. It warmed his face up regardless of the scar that made Brock a bit nervous at first -- what if I had come from some crime or a fight? -- but Jack, as if reading his mind, said that it was from an accident which left Brock feeling embarrassed. TJ had taken to him immediately. Jack wasn’t how he expected him to be. The image of a piano player was someone stiff and rigid, someone who would push and demand and that was why Brock stayed the first few lessons. 

He insisted TJ call him Jack and he let TJ bang on the piano for the first five or ten minutes to let him get his energy out so he could focus. During that time Jack and Brock engaged in small talk, the kind that he would have with Wanda over the fence when they were gardening. Only flowers and tomatoes were allowed, nothing too big and unsightly. Outwardly perfect which made the inside ugly. Sometimes Brock stayed and watched but today he wasn’t feeling up to wearing his mask for so long. Instead he went to the car and parked in the empty lot where they were constructing a Dollar General. He stared at the yellow sign boasting “Coming Soon”. It was strange how things kept moving when Brock felt stuck. It was as if life was carrying on around him. Like he was dead. He wasn’t dead of course but he may well have been considering the husk Grant had turned him into. 

It wasn’t quite a secret anymore. Grant knew that he knew. And Brock knew that he knew. So why was this charade still going on? Was it for the sake of keeping face? Was it for TJ? Was it because Brock was nothing without him and being second was preferable to being nothing. He lit up, the tip angry in contrast to the gray day surrounding him. Of course even the brightest day couldn’t break free of this. It was the elephant in the room. Not, it was a huge wall erected between Brock and Grant. Bringing the cigarette to his lips he tried to find something positive in it, something that Brock could cling onto climb out of this slippery slope he was on. Something solid, something he could depend on. There was nothing, nothing except the fact that at the end of the day it was their bed Grant fell into. It didn’t mean he touched Brock -- he hadn’t, not for a long time now. At first he thought it was personal, dismissing the cologne clinging to Grant’s suits as a coworker’s. But coworkers didn’t get that close. And office hours didn’t extend to ten or eleven at night. 

But Grant still slept in their bed. That was something. 

Brock checked the time, cursed and dropped his cigarette on his chinos, burning the fabric. Brock cursed again, grabbing the cigarette and throwing it out the window and he brushed the hot ash from his clothes. This didn’t fit the perfect image; people from the suburbs didn’t walk around with cigarette burns on their clothes. The weather seemed like it would hang on so he bet he could get inside without having to stop and have the polite small talk required in the Cul-De-Sac, a social contract that Brock had signed by moving in. Back then he hadn’t cared about it, it sounded nice, a neighborhood of like minded people. The only thing that made them all alike were their homes: the same vinyl siding from the same store, the same 3 tap asphalt shingles, the same eggshell trim. 

Different battles resided in each home, different people when the masks dropped. 

Brock wasn’t one of them. Maybe he had been from the start but he never thought things would get to this level. He never thought he’d be in a situation when Grant had an affair. There was a time when Brock thought he was enough, that he was a good husband, a good person. Now he was in a loveless marriage and he smoked around his son like a piece of shit. Was it really loveless if Brock still loved him though? Sometimes he put the blame on himself. When TJ came around he neglected his body a bit, piling on a good twenty pounds from lack of proper exercise and quick frozen lunches and dinner. 

Grant had been too polite to say anything but maybe it had turned him off permanently. But if was that petty, fuck him. 

Brock didn’t mean it. His heart ached day in and day out. Crying no longer offered any release and the only place he allowed him to break down was in shower, huddling in the corner like a scene out of a shitty Lifetime movie. It stopped helping ages ago, no longer able to wash away his tears and convince himself that he was wrong, that he was overreacting, reading too much into nothing. 

No longer could he do that. No longer could he blind himself to what Grant laid in front of him openly. There was no reason for him to hide it really. They both knew. It was just one of those best left unsaid. Until it passed your tongue things stayed together. Cracks in glass that was just one small touch, one single word, from shattering completely. Divorces didn’t happen here, not in suburbs where everything was supposed to be just right. Divorce. The word broke his heart just a little bit further. 

He pulled into Jack’s driveway parking behind his vehicle, a four door Toyota Tacoma with a cap. It didn’t seem to fit a piano teacher but Brock had once seen lumber in the back of his truck. He wondered if he used the same company Grant worked for. He checked his watch -- it was a Movado that Brock had gotten from their very first anniversary and looking at it was salt in a gaping wound -- and knocked on the door. He could hear the piano through the door, tinkering and well practiced. Footsteps approached and Jack opened the door with a smile that quickly faded. “Oh, I’m sorry I left you in the rain so long.” 

It hadn’t been more than fifteen seconds but Brock hadn’t even noticed the stray water droplets wetting his shoulders and hair he’d so carefully styled as he did everyday. “It’s fine.” 

It was his fault really for forgetting the umbrella -- the umbrella he’d needed for TJ. “In fact, I need to grab my umbrella.” He turned to go but a gentle hand touched his arm. 

He faced Jack who took his hand back and held out a black umbrella. “Here, use this. I have a ton. You can return or keep it. I don’t want to be out in the rain any longer than you already have been.” 

Brock took it after a moment, surprised by the kindness. It wasn’t that Jack wasn’t kind -- he seemed like a very kind man -- but this was a step beyond kind. Brock wasn’t so certain he’d do the same in that situation although now he would. “Thank you Jack.” 

“Don’t thank me, it’s no trouble really.” 

Jack led him through the house into the living room where the piano was. Brock hadn’t been sure what to make of Jack the first time he stepped into his home. It was everything theirs wasn’t. The couch was suede and the easy chair leather which clashed. And the table was oblong and handmade. It’s top was clustered with various magazines and a stack of hardback books. The most startling was the elk mounted above the TV, it’s glassy eyes overseeing everything in the living room. It had delighted TJ, unaware it was a dead elk, believing the rest of its body was in the wall. He even gave the elk a name -- Sir Antler -- and TJ was just as excited to see him as he was to Jack. He stood in the archway and TJ spun around the bench and beamed when he saw him. 

“Daddy! I can play Happy Birthday wanna hear?” 

Brock smiled. “I would love to.” 

TJ played it and he played it well. Jack smiled as he did so. 

“Did I do a good job, Jack?” 

“You certainly did.” 

“See Daddy? Did you hear?” 

“I did. I’m very impressed.” 

TJ looked quite impressed with himself. Brock wrote a check for Jack -- sixty dollar per lesson -- and TJ hopped in place humming the melody. Jack took it a nod of thanks and wished them the best. Brock thanked him again for the umbrella and they headed to the car. The ride was full of TJ sharing everything they had done and Brock listened intently. Focus helped him get out of his head and he knew once they got home TJ would go back to his toys and Brock would start dinner and wonder if he’d need to leave a plate in the microwave for Grant or not. His schedule was erratic but that was on purpose Brock assumed. Once it became predictable it would be too hard to ignore. He was shocked when he found Grant’s car in the lot. 

TJ lit up in excitement and Brock grimaced because he knew Grant would notice the burn. Brock wasn’t certain if he’d address it -- that would hit too close to what they were all studiously ignoring. Brock freed TJ from the car and he skipped along under the umbrella. At six years old he was wildly intelligent. First graders had half days every Wednesday so that was appointed piano day. Brock didn’t need the key because Grant would have left it unlocked. Panic wrapped around Brock’s neck -- what if he’d brought the secret home? What if -- 

No, Grant was on the couch, tie slung over the back hunched over his laptop. 

“Papa!” TJ cheered. 

Grant was a good father. He shut the laptop and accepted the hug, tickling his sides until he shrieked with laughter. Brock smiled a bit before reality hit him. 

“How was your day?” Grant asked over TJ’s laugh. 

“It was okay. How was yours?” 

This was their daily charade -- just never so early. He went to change, sighing at the burn. Thankfully he had eight, now seven, of the same pair. There was an unspoken uniform there, a requirement that no ever look slovenly or underdressed. No getting the mail in your pajamas, no putting out the trash in tee shirts and athletic shorts. Always perfect all the time. 

He got out the chicken breasts he’d unthawed. He wanted to make TJ’s favorite, cordon bleu. After running the breasts under water he butterflied them and got to layering the swiss cheese and ham. He was rolling it up when Grant walked into the kitchen, leaning against the door frame. Brock looked up as he slipped the toothpick through. 

“I won’t be around tonight,” he said. “Work that I have to finish up at the office.” 

The lie was so thin it was damn near transparent. If he had work he wouldn’t have come home. He was going to meet up with him, whoever he was. Brock wondered if the person he went to see knew about his family. Knew that he had a son, who was six years old and boisterous with curly brown hair and a love for dinosaurs. If he knew he had a husband, a man who had given his whole heart to Grant who was currently grinding the heel of his boot on it. 

“Should I leave you some food?” 

“I’ll swing through Burger King.” 

Maybe he cooked for him. Maybe he was a better chef than Brock. Was that what drove him away? His shoddy cooking? Brock knew he was grasping at straws, that it wasn’t one thing that had made their lives this way, one thing that pushed Grant into infidelity. It was the little things, Brock suspected. Annoying him with this and that, putting more energy into parenting than he did maintaining their relationship. He hadn’t noticed in time, didn’t notice Grant drawing away, longer hours, sexless nights… It was everything Brock should have noticed but didn’t. So they were both at fault here weren’t they? 

“Okay.” 

“This weekend I have an overnight trip.” 

And there it was. The very first night that Grant wouldn’t be sleeping beside him. His throat seared with emotion; he wanted to cry. But this wasn’t the shower, this wasn’t safe. So he swallowed it down, inhaled deeply and tried to calm himself enough to respond as though he believed him. “I understand.”

It was terse, a bit too obvious, but no one prodded at it. Grant just smiled, an empty smile but a smile nonetheless and went back into the living room where Grant had set up Land Before Time. Brock began to chop up onions and garlic for the fried brussel sprouts (the only way Brock could cajole TJ into eating them). It wasn’t the first time they’d had dinner alone and it wouldn’t be the last. Brock needed a cigarette and a glass of wine. He couldn’t smoke, not with Grant home, so he settled for the wine. One cup quickly tipped back followed by a second which went just as quickly as the first. He poured a third and set it aside as a numbing aid while he cooked. 

Roll chicken in egg wash, drink, roll the chicken in breadcrumbs, drink. It continued, muscle memory kicking in. It wasn’t a side he let out when Grant was still home usually but he was getting sloppy. But any minute now he’d come in, say goodbye, press his lips to his cheek. It was a kiss, just skin touching skin. And when he smelled cigarettes and wine he didn’t say anything. It was what it was. That was all there was to it. It came shortly after Little Foot singing started. His jacket was folded over his arm and he had his briefcase. Their exchange was brief, both aware that he had a place he’d rather be. Two grown men playing pretend because neither was prepared for the fallout if they ceased their roles in front of each other. So Grant would go, slip off his mask and fall into the arms of another lover. And Brock would crack the window, wine in one hand with a bottle resting faithfully on the floor, a cigarette in the other one sitting in the window, the choice destination for Brock’s self pity parties. 

It helped that TJ was too young to know that his daddy wasn’t meant to mope when his papa was gone. He was young and oblivious but he was ticking time bomb. One day he would pop the question, ask where his papa was. And Brock… Brock would have to face the truth then, wouldn’t he? That or bring TJ into a circle of lies like the other residents. Brock wasn’t certain what he would do when it happened, what his excuse would be if he could offer one. It killed him that it would happen one day, that TJ would know what it felt like to mean nothing to someone who meant everything to you. No one should have their hearts broken like that so early. 

Brock sipped as he put away the dishes and poured his sixth glass. He knew he’d overdone it a bit but he wasn’t too impaired to get TJ in the bath and tucked into bed, stumbling through a story because his eyes didn’t want to focus. He bid TJ goodnight with a merlot scented kiss and went back to his perch staring at the drawn shades wondering what they were hiding. Arguments, money trouble, bad habits, incest. Ugliness that wasn’t allowed to see the light of day so it was contained until the sun set. It was less lonely when he thought about it that way, that he wasn’t the only one carrying a burden. 

Grant came home around eleven thirty and Brock pretended to be asleep as he was meant to. When he got in bed he kept his side and so did Grant. It was just another day in the Rumlow-Ward household. 

** ** ** **

TJ was banging away on the piano at the end of the lesson when Brock finally knocked. 

“I’m sorry, they were detouring traffic and I completely forgot -- ”

“It’s okay Mr. Rumlow,” Jack assured him. “TJ’s having a good time.” 

TJ spun around. “We did Twinkle Twinkle today.” 

“You did?” 

“Uh-huh. Want to hear?” 

“If Jack doesn’t mind.” 

“Be my guest, TJ.” 

Despite the late pick up Jack didn’t seem too upset which was good even though Brock felt awful for it. He got too caught up in his head, too far into his thoughts that time just soared on past them. Did his absentmindedness play apart? Brock couldn’t dwell on that, not here when his mask was on. But once that line of thinking started it was like stepping off a cliff, plunging into the abyss of fear, confusion, and anger. Lost in his own heartbreak, lost in everything he’d once had with Grant that was gone now. Gone now he’d spent two nights in another man’s bed.

No, no he couldn’t hold it inside anymore. He didn’t owe anyone anything. He didn’t need to go back there -- he wouldn’t. Grant had torn apart their home. Not him. He had given him everything he was, everything he could have become and he had tossed it all away from someone else. “Mr. Rumlow, are you alright?” 

Brock touched his face and felt the tears. He laughed because fuck was it funny. Here had been stressing over this, over a man who was long gone in spirit and for what? For shits and giggles? For the sake of a neighborhood that was riddled with his own share of problems? There was no reason to hide Grant’s infidelity. And he wouldn’t, not for a single second longer. 

“Brock?” Jack said, sounding truly worried. 

“My husband is having an affair.” Brock said looking up at Jack. “He’s been cheating on me almost a year now.” 

Jack blinked stunned and Brock could hear TJ asking if he heard and then worriedly asking why he was sad. Brock didn’t have the ability to reply. He just sobbed. It was ugly crying, the kind he only did when he was alone. Faintly heard Jack telling TJ that they had to step into the other room and to work on Jingle Bells. There was a moment of quiet and the tinkering of the piano keys. Jack had a hand on the small of his back, leading him out of the living room into a kitchen. It was well stocked. Decor simple, ceramic flour and sugar holders that were black with white font describing what was kept inside of them. 

“I am so sorry to hear that Brock. I-I… Is there someone I can call? You’re too upset to drive.” 

Brock wasn’t supposed to fall apart here; this was supposed to happen at night behind closed shades. Instead he threw himself at Jack who held him like they were old friends, like this had happened a thousand times over. 

“I love him,” Brock croaked between sobs. “Why am I not enough?” 

Jack was quiet a moment and said, “He must be blind if he can’t see what he had right in front of him.” 

“I’m not enough,” Brock choked. “I’ve known for so l-long and I just… Why did he do this to me? To us?” 

Jack’s arms tightened around him. “I don’t know, Brock.” 

Jack let him cry it out, at some point little arms around his legs and TJ’s cries cut through his own. In the back of his mind he knew this was insanity, that he had started down a path that would end with nothing but further heartbreak and turmoil. He was going to put their child through hell and back. He finally pulled away, suspended in a temporary numbness that gave him enough insight to know what he’d done was wildly inappropriate and that he probably looked like the biggest mess that’d stepped into his home. TJ was still sobbing, undoubtedly afraid and confused. 

“It’s okay TJ, it’s okay.” Brock’s voice was rough from his sobs. 

He smoothed his hair and TJ looked up at him, face flushed and his cheeks wet with tears. “Why are you so sad daddy?” 

“No reason,” Brock took a deep breath. He wasn’t supposed to break down like this, not in front of TJ. “Let’s say goodbye to Jack, okay?” 

TJ looked just as distressed as ever and Brock offered a watery smile. He turned his attention to still shocked looking Jack. “Bye-bye Jack.” 

“Brock are you sure -- ”

Brock could hardly look at him, hustling towards the door. “Thank you Jack. We’ll see you next week.” 

It wasn’t until he was halfway home that it hit him. He pulled over and put his face in his hands. He didn’t think his heart was capable of breaking more than it had already but now here was here, confronting it, he realized it was only the start. It truly felt like he was going to die. He couldn’t catch his breath, couldn’t think about anything but the fact that thing he was so afraid of was here. His biggest nightmare realized. TJ wouldn’t understand, wouldn’t understand why one of his parents left. 

Brock took a deep breath and continued the ride home, reassuring TJ that it was okay. They parked and Brock sat there a moment, let it all sink in. 

He had to do this. It was going to kill him but he couldn’t keep on like this. It was fair. Not for Brock, not TJ and not for Grant. Grant didn’t have to work hard to move on, surely the man he had on the side loved him. Now he could have him and hopefully they would be happy because no one should have to feel what he felt in that moment. Even though he was resigned to its fate it hurt. He wasn’t sure it would ever stop hurting but for now, it was a fresh wound. And those closed over time. But it would scar, Brock was absolutely certain of that. 

** ** ** **

Brock got TJ on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. They alternated weekends. Holidays depended on the day. It wasn’t a hard divorce, no one resisted. But it was an easy break for Grant who had left the relationship emotionally nearly a year before it’s end. His boyfriend -- fiance, now -- was nice. He was a school teacher and TJ liked him. Brock was glad. He didn’t wish ill for Grant even though he wanted too. He hated that he’d hesitated when it came to signing his name before the notary. 

Because Brock had him on Wednesdays he saw Jack weekly. He had insisted that day had not been a problem when Brock offered his apologies, horribly embarrassed. TJ was performing Fur Elise when Jack turned to Brock. “You know… That day…you didn’t pay me.” 

Brock gasped in apology. “Oh god, I’m so sorry. Let me write you another check -- ”

“Actually I was hoping you’d let me take you to dinner in exchange.” 

Brock was struck speechless. The idea of dating, much less dating Jack, had never even crossed his mind. 

“No pressure of course,” Jack said quickly. “I just… Well, I wanted to get to know you better.” 

Jack had always been there, a constant when his world was turned upside down, putting the house for sale, moving into a little apartment that had just enough room for him and TJ. Getting back into the workforce for the first time in nearly ten years. It wasn’t a lucrative position, a call center employee for the cable company. But it paid enough to pay bills and a little extra for little luxuries. Jack had been the shoulder to cry on, the only one he had trusted enough to tell him his secret. Maybe a date wasn’t such a crazy idea. 

“It’d have to be on a Thursday.” 

Jack smiled. “Thursdays work for me.” 

** ** ** **

The restaurant was a bit more upscale than Brock would have liked but any worries he had, any thoughts about Grant taking him to venues such as this when they still married, faded when Jack stood up with that warm, welcoming smile on his face. It was a smile that drew out one of his own and it made his cheeks heat up a bit. It’d been so long since anyone looked at him the way Jack did that he wasn’t sure how to properly respond. He looked great in a gray button up and dark slacks. Brock hoped he looked okay in chinos and a polo shirt. Jack went so far as to pull out his chair -- and they say chivalry is dead -- before he took his own. 

The table was dark wood, the finish smooth. Brock appreciated the wood for a moment before Grant came creeping up from the back of his mind. But he wasn’t here to think about Grant, he was here to try out dating again, to see if Jack could be the next One. Of course that wasn’t for a long time, not until his heart healed. They made small talk first, Jack telling Brock how talented TJ was and about a summer camp that worked on piano skills as well fun things like swimming, hiking and camping. Brock assured him he’d look into it. 

Brock’s original suspicion was correct, Jack worked with a carpenter company occasionally. He explained he’d been left a sizable inheritance which gave him the means of teaching piano and working whenever he was requested. He asked Brock how things were and his eyes were shone with sympathy. Brock didn’t expect that but Jack’s gaze was so soft and understanding he couldn’t help but admit that things were hard sometimes, that the silence in his apartment when TJ wasn’t home was suffocating. Jack was empathetic of it, nodding and frowning. Just when Brock was starting to fall into a depressive state Jack asked him about work and Brock filled the time they were looking over the menu with tales of all the crazy customers he got on a daily basis. Jack laughed. Jack listened. 

Brock wasn’t sure why it meant so much but it did. 

Brock couldn’t be certain that Jack would be the next One but Brock wouldn't object to another date.


End file.
